


Horrorfest Prompts

by crimsoncomradeposts



Category: BlacKkKlansman (2018), Logan Lucky (2017), Marriage Story (2019), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, The Dead Don't Die (2019)
Genre: Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Death, F/M, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, Murder, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:15:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 8,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27024148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsoncomradeposts/pseuds/crimsoncomradeposts
Summary: A collection of short prompts from my Horrorfest event run over on tumblr (direnightshade).
Relationships: Charlie Barber/Reader, Charlie Barber/You, Clyde Logan/Reader, Clyde Logan/You, Dan Jones/Reader, Flip Zimmerman/Reader, Flip Zimmerman/You, Kylo Ren/Reader, Kylo Ren/You, Ronnie Peterson/Reader, Ronnie Peterson/You
Kudos: 18





	1. Eating Clyde's Candy (Clyde Logan)

Heavy steps sound from the opposite end of the trailer, and soon, shuffling can be heard. You’re seated on the couch, your eyes focused on the television screen that’s currently displaying yet another Halloween themed movie. The holiday was yesterday, but even still, the networks have failed to get the memo. There’s a marathon of one of your favorite series, and you’ll be damned if you move from this couch today.

But your gaze breaks away when you hear the opening and closing of a cabinet followed by the rustling of empty candy wrappers.

“ **Who ate all m’candy?!** ”

The beginnings of a smile tugs at the corner of your mouth, and your hand lifts to cover it just as Clyde steps into the living room, a look of suspicion aimed directly at you.

Your shoulders rise and fall just as a laugh slips out. “Wasn’t me,” you mutter from behind your hand, the words muffled by your skin.

Clyde huffs in response and turns to move back into the kitchen, and the sound of more drawers and cabinets opening can be heard until...

“Knew y’were playin’ some kinda prank on me,” he calls out, pulling out the plastic baggie full of unwrapped chocolate bars and peanut butter cups. “Y’ain’t that mean.”

More laughter sounds, and soon enough, he, too, is joining in with a rumbled laugh of his own. He takes his seat beside you on the couch, baggie in hand, his head nodding towards the television.

“So, what’re we marathonin’ today?”


	2. Smile (Ronnie Peterson)

The chill of the outside air has long since evaporated, but even as the warmth of the station settles into your bones, you still cannot seem to rid yourself of the tremors that have wracked your body. It was a terrifying experience, being held at knifepoint whilst your items had been taken from you, money and all.

The thief had gotten away, but not before you’d managed to get a good look at them. If there’s one thing that Ronnie’s learned in his time as one of Centerville’s officers, it’s that the people of this town—the ones who lie and steal and cheat—they’re never very smart about their awful endeavors.

You’ve asked him to stay with you while you give the description of your robber to the sketch artist, and though he knows that he should be out there, should be looking for the person who’d made you so emotionally distressed and violated your safety and peace of mind, who is he to turn you down? So he stays. He stays and he reaches for your hand beneath the table as the two of you sit side by side across from the sketch artist. You go into detail about your assailant, and with each small, steady stroke of Ronnie’s thumb across your knuckles, your shaking subsides until finally, it ceases to exist at all.

Only then—only when he is certain that you will be alright without him by your side—does he break away from you to begin an investigation of his own.

———————-

Your description had been more than enough to hunt down your attacker. From the denim jeans, grey hoodie and black baseball cap right down to his facial features and the beauty mark that sits just atop his upper lip, you’d described the man to a ‘t’. You’d made it so easy for Ronnie.

He’d have to thank you properly for it later.

The machete that Ronnie had commandeered from the hardware store is now held firmly in his grasp whilst his feet carry him further into the shadows of the alley of two brick buildings in the heart of Centerville’s small business district.

The man is, at first, seemingly oblivious to Ronnie’s presence as he perches himself against the exterior of one of the buildings, his eyes on the phone that belongs to you. When the scuff of Ronnie’s soles against the asphalt captures his attention, only then does he raise his head to look over at the officer.

He sneers, and Ronnie’s jaw clenches.

“Nice fuckin’ machete you got there, _officer_. Too bad we ain’t in a fuckin’ jungle.”

If Ronnie had even a shred of doubt on whether or not he should take the life of the man in front of him, he sure doesn’t now. Bad jokes on top of the heinous act he’d committed against you? Death will surely be too kind.

And yet…

“ **You have a great smile** ,” Ronnie retorts when the man’s sneer turns to a grin, his arm raising up to lift the machete in preparation of his own attack, “ **too bad it will be the last thing you do.** ”


	3. Through the Lens Pt. 1 (Killer!Charlie)

Are you really that innocent, he wonders in the silence of his room whilst he watches you through the computer screen, or is it all an act to lure in those poor, desperate men who are so willing to throw money at you for a glimpse of your tits, maybe more if they’re lucky?

How far would _you_ be willing to go for just for the cash? Would you be willing to take things offline, meet him in person, let him touch you for real?

He wonders as the button of his jeans pops open, the zipper quickly following, how your face would look as it contorts from pleasure to pain when he cuts the soul clean from your body. He hisses out a breath when his hand begins to stroke his cock, the image of your seemingly innocent face on the screen now replaced by the fantasy of you begging for him to spare you, to bestow upon you a single ounce of mercy. It’s the mental image of a gush of crimson that flows so freely from that pretty neck of yours that sends him over the edge, cumming into his palm with a groan.

This may not be anything more than a fantasy tonight, but as he catches his breath, Charlie resolves to make this reality in due time.


	4. Through the Lens Pt. 2 (Killer!Charlie)

Charlie can’t say that he’s surprised by the way tonight has panned out, but a part of him is disappointed. He had hoped that you were different, that maybe you’d be smart enough to turn him down, that money wasn’t your only motivation.

Oh, how wrong he’d been.

He’d promised you $1,500 simply for meeting him at a nearby coffee shop under the pretense of just getting to know you better. You’d known, of course, that offers like these—ones involving payment—are never as cut and dry as ‘getting to know someone’. But you’d gone along, met him for a drink and decided then and there that he was harmless.

Oh, how wrong _you’d_ been.

A trail of tears has long since dried though your vision remains by the unshed ones that fill your eyes, and your voice has grown hoarse from all of the screaming you’ve done, desperate to be free from this hell you’ve found yourself in. A heavy chain rattles with each thrash of your body against the worn mattress that sits in the basement of a nondescript home, your leg tethered to keep you from escaping.

The screams have long since dissipated, now replaced by mild whimpers and dry sobs when the door to the basement swings open and heavy steps can be heard descending the wooden stairs, Charlie eventually coming into view. The sleeves of his button down are rolled up to his elbows, the shirt crumpled from the struggle of getting you down here. His hair is disheveled and his eyes are dark, like an abyss, you think to yourself.

“Please,” you whisper, voice hoarse, head shaking vehemently when he steps closer. “Please, no! _No_!”

Charlie reaches for you, his hand encircling your able to tug you further down the mattress. He knew you’d be a fighter, knew it from the moment he’d grabbed you. It’s that fiery spirit that he finds himself flocking to like a moth to flame.

Releasing his hold on your ankle, he lifts his hand to wrap it around your throat, pinning you to the mattress as he sinks down to his knees, straddling your legs to prevent you from struggling further. He bends down, his face _so close_ to your own now, fingers giving a squeeze in warning against your neck.

“The more you fight the worse off this is going to be for you,” he says, his free hand gliding along the side of your body, taking his time to feel every inch of you.

His hand dips past the waistband of your underwear, fingers tapping lightly against your clit, pulling more whimpers of protest from you. Your head shakes again, legs kicking beneath him, though you’re able to go nowhere.

A self-satisfied smirk takes hold, and Charlie shifts himself just enough to where he can part your legs with his own. When his fingers slide down further to feel along your cunt, he hums in response to what he finds.

“Knew you’d be fucking wet for this.” He slips his index finger into you, soon followed by his middle finger, curling both to drag the pads of his fingers along your front wall.

Your hips lift in an effort to rid yourself of him, but to no avail, and when your jaw falls slack he takes the opportunity to release your throat and shove two fingers into your mouth. “Suck,” he instructs, pressing down onto your tongue while he simultaneously shoves his fingers further back until he hits the back of your throat, causing you to gag.

He hums again in approval when you listen to him, the whimpers now turning to whines as his fingers draw you closer to an unwanted release. “You’re just like the rest of them,” he says through panted breaths, his chest heaving just from watching the way you writhe beneath him. “I thought you were different.”

His hair falls messily around his face, making him look wild, absolutely feral with the lust that courses through his veins. Another whine sounds, muffled now by his fingers, and it’s then that you make your move, teeth biting down hard, enough to startle him.

With a roar of surprise and anger, he tears his fingers from your mouth, keeping the others buried deep within your cunt. Charlie brings his hand down to slap it against your cheek hard enough to make you feel the sting just before grabbing your throat yet again. This time, he squeezes hard, your feet kicking and legs flailing as you struggle to breath. The lack of oxygen, coupled with his fingers that still move within you is too much to bare, and just when your vision begins to blacken around the edges, he lets go, letting your lungs fill with oxygen, the euphoric sensation sending you careening over the precipice, your cunt clenching and sucking at his fingers in an earth shattering orgasm.

Maybe, he thinks, he was wrong all along. Maybe you aren’t like the others.


	5. What Possessed You To Wear That (Clyde Logan)

The door to the Duck Tape swings open, but Clyde pays it no mind straight away. He’s caught up in the middle of pouring another round for one of the many patrons that has filled the space tonight.

“I’ll be with y’in just a minute,” he calls out from over his shoulder.

But it’s the click, click, click of heels against the hardwood that captures his attention sooner rather than later. Given the fact that the bar tends to attract mostly blue collar people from the nearby mines ‘n’ such, it’s rare for him to hear such a sound, unless…

He turns, bottle of liquor in hand, and his brows immediately shoot upward in surprise because there you are in all your glory…

The heeled boots you wear run clear up to your thighs, and the fishnets you don are barely—if even—covered at the apex of your thighs by the skimpiest bodysuit Clyde’s ever seen. You’ve got a set of white shirt cuffs around your wrist and a pair of crisp white bunny ears t’match and he swears if you so much as turn he’ll—

 _Christ, he’s almost dropped the bottle_ because _of course_ you’d have a fluffy little mock bunny tail perched atop your ass.

You give your ass a quick shake to show off before turning back around with a giggle, now making your way over to him. He notices then that his eyes aren’t the only ones glued to your beautiful figure.

“ **What God-awful demon possessed you t’wear that** ,” he hisses in question just as you place your hands atop the bar.

A sly smirk curls your lips, and he curses himself inwardly when he feels the all too familiar twitch of his cock in his pants.

“What, don’t you like it?” Your bottom lip juts out in a pout and—fuck what that doesn’t do to him…

“Go to m’office. Y’know what you’re in for.”

With a satisfied smile, you don’t so much as hesitate to step away from the bar to make your way to the back as instructed, ensuring to give your ass yet another shake on the way back.

Oh, you do know what you’re in for, and Clyde knows you’re only teasin’ him so that he’ll be loud for you, and so that he’ll ensure you’re just as loud for him. By the time he’s finished with you, everyone in that bar will know who you belong to.


	6. Killer Wifey (Dan Jones)

Metal glides along metal, the teeth of the key that glides into the deadbolt catching to overturn the lock with a simple twist of Dan’s wrist. The front door soon pushes open, and the suitcase that has become a daily necessity is set down just to the left of the door near the coatrack.

“Honey,” he calls out just as the door closes behind him.

In another part of the home he can hear the sloshing of water emanating from a sink. “Kitchen,” you call out in return.

Dan slips out of his shoes, leaves them in their designated spot beside your own before he pads through the home to where you stand just in front of the sink. Your hands scrub furiously at whatever dishware has ended up in the water, but when your head lifts to look over your shoulder at Dan, any sour expression has immediately shifted into something much more pleasant.

“You’re home early.”

Dan hums in acknowledgement, his head nodding just as he steps towards you. His hands find your waist, and he leans in to deposit a quick kiss to your lips as your head remains turned. His gaze dips down to the water that’s now tinged red, and he gives your waist a loving squeeze before moving towards the refrigerator.

“And yet it still feels as if I’ve been at work for a fully twenty four hours.”

“At least it’s Friday,” you counter.

“Indeed it is.” He pulls open the refrigerator’s door, his gaze bypassing the jar of pickled fingers in favor of reaching for a dish that’s covered in cling film. “What’s for dinner?”

“Liver.” Your reply comes without missing a single beat.

The cling film is pulled from the dish, revealing the tasty morsels that you’ve so lovingly cooked up for him, and Dan places it into the microwave to heat up. Behind him, he can hear the water as it swirls and swirls, the red tinged liquid now washing down the drain until there’s nothing left, taking with it any evidence of what you’ve been up to prior to his arrival home.

He doesn’t ask where the liver comes from. He doesn’t need to.

He’s fully aware of your proclivities just as you are of his.

It’s better this way, the two of you enjoying this strange domestic bliss.


	7. Feeding (Vampire!Kylo)

Metal clangs against metal as a lock is unlatched and pulls free from its home in the cage that you so often find yourself confined to.

The cage’s door swings open, and for a moment, silence fills the room as you and Kylo stare at one another. Your back is pressed to the metal bars as if you seek to meld with their very composition, wanting nothing more than to be free from the beast on the other side of the now open door.

A heavy sigh is exhaled when Kylo parts his lips, and it’s then that he reaches in to retrieve you. He’d been hoping that some day, some day you’d have come to your senses; that you’d listen to the words he whispers to you at night, that you’ll come around and be his _willingly_.

But tonight is not that night, though you _will_ still be _his_ whether you agree to it or not.

A shrill scream is emitted into the room when he pulls you roughly from the cage, manhandling you with little effort even as you thrash wildly in his hold like some rabid, feral animal. You should know better than to behave like this. Though he would love nothing more than your submission, Kylo does so enjoy it when you fight him.

He pins you easily down onto the nearby mattress that’s covered in black satin, the material cool against your burning skin as his hand wraps around your throat. A steady pressure is applied to the spot until you finally comply, the thrashing ceasing altogether as your body—still littered with the evidence of your last coupling with him—stills beneath him.

Bruises and still healing bite marks are visible across your thighs, arms, chest, and neck. Kylo’s fangs extend of their own accord, his cock straining against the fabric of his trousers at the sight before him. He _likes_ this, likes knowing that it’s _him_ who gets to mark you up, gets to see you like this and bend you into submission.

You swallow thickly, and the sensation of it beneath his palm sends a thrill straight to the depths of his abdomen, his cock twitching in anticipation of what’s to come.

The hand at your neck gives you one solid squeeze in warning before it’s removed entirely—just long enough to allow Kylo to disrobe without so much as a disobedient move on your part.

Once his clothes have been removed and discarded onto the floor, he resumes his looming position over top of you. His knees settle between your legs, widening them until a familiar burn settles into your pelvis. The head of his cock bumps against you, and you exhale a sigh at your traitorous cunt as it clenches around nothing, desperate to be filled once more.

Kylo spares no mercy when he splits you open with his cock, your cunt stretching with a sting at the sudden intrusion. The single, abrupt thrust punches a gasp straight from your lungs, and no matter how many times he takes you like this, you’ll never get used to the sensation. Kylo grunts, his head dipping down to rest his forehead against your clavicle when your cunt flutters around him, greedily trying to suck him in even further. But he’s buried to the hilt, he can go no more, though it doesn’t stop him from trying as his hips rock against your own.

Your hands claw at his back, drawing rows of red against his flesh when he begins to set a quick, punishing pace. The steady slapping of skin on skin fills the room, mingling with your cries for mercy and Kylo’s intermittent groans and grunts.

The hand at your neck shifts, his thumb dipping beneath your chin to tilt your head up, exposing to him more of your neck as his own head lifts from your body.

The whites of his eyes have long since vanished, leaving nothing but an inky blackness in their wake. The fangs that had extended earlier remain visible as they scratch upward along the column of your throat, passing just overtop of where your pulse beats.

“ _No, no, no, no_ ,” you beg and plead so vainly. But you know it will be of no use. It never is.

Your words once again fall by the wayside, disregarded as needlepoint fangs pierce your skin and penetrate the artery, allowing the warmth of your blood to flood Kylo’s mouth.

He hums in contentment, one hand sliding around to the nape of your neck whilst the other moves to slip between your lower back and the mattress. He holds you to him, the hard thrusts now tapering off into nothing more than shallow, slow movements. His focus has shifted, and it’s less about the carnal need to fill you as it is about imbibing his own fill of _you_.

He drinks and he drinks and he drinks, stopping only when he feels the once strong and steady rhythm of your heartbeat slow to barely a whisper. Kylo releases your body from his grasp then, letting you fall back onto the mattress, devoid of consciousness.

His mouth is smeared with blood when he pulls back, his hands moving once more to grip your hips. The movement of his own become wild, reckless with abandon as he resumes his previous punishing pace. A possessive growl tears itself from deep within his chest as he watches your body bounce against the mattress, and soon enough, he cums harder than he ever has before.

Kylo empties himself within you, filling you with everything he has, his cock pulsing and throbbing viciously within your tight, wet cunt.

Only when he’s satisfied, his cock softening, does he pull himself from you. There is no compassion, no tender coddling afterwards. It’s back to the cage that you go where you will once again wake with a soreness between your legs and thighs sticky with evidence that Kylo has once again used your body for his own desires.


	8. Costume Party (Killer!Charlie)

_‘Can you believe this?’_

_‘These decorations are to **die** for.’_

_‘He’s really outdone himself this year. And here I thought he hated Halloween. Who’d have thought.’_

The compliments pour in one after another after another as guests filter into the small space of Charlie’s Brooklyn apartment. He can hear them all of course, can hear the murmurs of appreciation about the quality and attention to detail.

If only they knew.

But there’s one person he’s particularly got his eye on, watching as fingertips dance delicately along one of the many ‘decorations’ he’s left lying about the living space.

He can’t help the curl of his mouth when you instantly wrench your hand away from one of the limbs that’s been set so perfectly atop the coffee table, and it’s then that he opts to cross the room to where you stand.

“Admiring the décor?”

Your gaze shifts from the limb to where Charlie stands, all dressed up in his costume. “I am. But…”

Charlie watches as you bend to the side, retrieving the arm to examine it while the wrist dangles limply. “How did you manage to get it to appear so lifelike?”

There’s something… _erotic_ in watching the way that you examine the arm, taking time to move each finger, to rotate the wrist, and look so closely at the perfectly sliced flesh of the forearm. Charlie clears his throat, forces himself to focus.

“I’ve got plenty of friends in the industry, as you know. Some of them were kind enough to lend a,” he pauses, motioning to the arm that you hold, “ _helping hand_.”

You’re quick to laugh, and he follows suit.

But, oh, if only you knew, Kitten.

_If only you knew._


	9. Bloodbath (Kylo Ren)

The slice of a freshly sharpened blade cuts whisper clean through the throat of yet another offering bestowed upon you by your Supreme Leader. A gurgle can be heard, followed by the sight of the warm, pooling crimson that runs down along the sides of the bath; it spills into the basin to mix with the blood of others you’ve given a similar fate to.

Limbs thrash and flail, the movements only growing weaker with each drop of blood that vacates the beautiful woman’s body. Soon enough, the struggle ceases altogether until there is once again only silence.

The small obsidian droids that hover so frequently are quick to swoop in to take away and dispose of the body whilst you turn to leave the dagger atop the counter. Only once you’re alone again do you disrobe and step into the bath.

Sinking into the viscous liquid, you sigh at the warmth of it, fingers disappearing into the opaque red to begin coating yourself in the blood. You’re up to your neck in it when Kylo enters, his large frame hovering near the threshold of the room’s doorway.

Your head turns to look at him, the two of you watching one another in the silence of the room. He watches as you rise from the depths of the tub, your naked body _dripping_ in sanguine.

He’s _so close_ now, the toes of his boots finally hitting the edge of the tub after having crossed the expanse of the room to get to you. You reach for him then, neither of you caring that the blood will undoubtedly soak into the fabric of the outfit that he wears.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

It certainly won’t be the last.

His lips meet yours in a bruising kiss, quickly followed by a clash of tongue and teeth whilst his hands slip around to palm your ass, blood squealing out from beneath his grasp. Only when the two of you break away for air does he step away again, this time to join you by disrobing himself until he, too, is bare.

Kylo joins you, lowering himself down into the awaiting elixir, his pale skin pink in the places the blood has run off, and red in others where he remains submerged. You take your own seat, settling down onto his lap just as his arms move to wrap around you to hold you close enough so that you may feel his heart beating in time with your own.

“Thank you, my love,” you murmur, tracing a bloodied finger across his lower lip.

His tongue darts out to lap at the pad of your finger, licking away the remnants of the bath until it’s clean. He hums at the taste, hums at the way your pupils dilate at the sight before you, and in no time at all, your lips have returned to his to taste the familiar copper tang that still coats his tongue.

It takes no time at all for you to feel his arousal as his cock swells and fills until it presses insistently against your folds. A soft gasp leaves you and Kylo swallows it down, his tongue pushing further into your mouth to lick and taste you so greedily. His hands maneuver you until the head of his cock catches at your entrance, and with one swift thrust upward, he makes himself at home in the depths of your cunt.


	10. Tall, Dark Stranger (Murder!Ronnie)

Darkness has settled over the countryside, swallowing up the light of the day and bathing the world in its inkiness. It’s here at the dingy roadside motel just outside of Centerville that you’ve agreed to meet Ronnie, the anticipation of what you’re about to experience sending a shiver downward along your spine. The two of you’d agreed to this, _wanted_ it, and now the moment is finally here.

The swipe of the keycard can be heard, followed quickly by a click as the door unlocks to allow you entry to the room. With your hand on the cool metal of the door’s handle, you will the butterflies that flutter so nervously in the pit of your stomach to quiet themselves, but as you push the door open, those very same flutters die instantly.

The room is dark, devoid of any inhabitants.

There is no Ronnie.

With a frown you step further into the room, flicking the lights on and closing the door behind you. A quick check of your phone reveals no new messages let alone any missed calls, and when you sink down onto the edge of the bed, you pull up the last thread of messages you’d had going with him.

 _See you at eight_ , his last reply reads.

You’re only early by ten minutes. Surely he’ll be here soon. But the minutes tick by, and eight becomes nine, and nine becomes ten.

You’ve texted him twice now asking him if he’s alright, checking in to make sure that he’s still coming, both of which go unanswered. Even your call to him mere minutes ago has gone unanswered, and you can’t help this awful feeling that maybe…just maybe he hadn’t meant it at all. That this is all some cruel joke. But when had you known Ronnie to be cruel?

With a sigh, you haul yourself up onto your feet and cross the room to where your purse sits, scrounging around for enough change to cover the cost of a pop at one of the machines outside. Palming the change and abandoning your phone on the small round table in the room, you grab your key card and vacate the space to get yourself a drink.

You take the walk slow, heavy thoughts weighing on both your heart and your shoulders. The pop machine buzzes and whirs as you approach it, a good sign that it’s cooling the drinks inside as it ought to. When all of your change is gone and a selection is pressed, a bottle rolls into sight at the bottom of the machine. You reach down to retrieve it and sigh at the minimal effort—or perhaps it’s merely at the way in which your night has played out, you can’t be sure.

Once again, you make your way to the room, swipe your keycard and push the door open. There’s a sudden warmth that wasn’t there before. A hard body presses up behind you and a hand reaches to cover your mouth to halt the scream that bubbles up from within your throat. The bottle of pop once held firmly in your hand now drops to the floor, the contents fizzing angrily as it bounces, shakes, and rolls its way back out onto the concrete walkway.

The door slams shut behind you, and you can feel it, the way that your heart races in your chest, pumping your veins full of adrenaline. It’s instinctual, the way that your hand lifts to grasp onto the hand that covers your mouth, wrenching a finger back until it’s far too agonizing for the man behind you to bear. He groans, curses and….

Is that…?

Could it be?

He stumbles backwards just as you turn, his back hitting into the light switch to douse the room in darkness, snuffing out any and all chance for you to see who the culprit is.

“Ronnie,” you call out in question, hearing only heavy breathing in immediate response.

Quick footsteps advance, and though you attempt to move out of the way, he’s much too fast. Once again, he seizes you, whirling you around to press your back to his front just as he’d done before. This time, your lips part and your teeth bare as you open your mouth to clamp down onto his hand. Another curse sounds, louder than the first when he releases you a second time.

But your moment of freedom doesn’t last, however, and soon enough he’s grabbing you to whirl you around. Without hesitation, a large hand grasps at your neck, fingers squeezing against your pulse point as he slams you against the nearest wall.

He leans in, expelling hot puffs of air onto the side of your face until you’re cheek to cheek. The brush of his lips can be felt against the shell of your ear when he speaks. “ **I’m the tall, dark stranger your parents warned you about**.”

Your heart leaps at his words.

It _is_ Ronnie.

It’s a struggle to get you to the bed given how much you thrash in his grasp, but still, he manages to do so. With a grunt and a shove of his hands, he forces you down onto your stomach, keeping one hand pressed firmly between your shoulder blades whilst the other pushes your skirt up and over your hips. The flailing of your legs is quickly ceased when his own trap yours between his knees.

“Stay still,” he warns, the words spoken gruffly.

The clink of a belt can be heard, followed by a pop of a button and the unzipping of his zipper. Fabric rustles, and soon enough, you feel an impressive weight against the cleft of your ass.

A moan slips past your lips as his fingers begin to explore your slick folds, a hum in satisfaction sounding when he feels just how _wet_ you are for him. “You like this, don’t you, letting some random stranger touch you like this?”

“Ronnie— _oh!_ ” A loud slap sounds throughout the room when he brings the palm of his hand down against your ass.

“ _Shut up_ ,” he grits out, his hand grasping his cock to run the head of it up and down along your slick cunt. His eyes roll back when the head of his cock catches at your entrance, sinking in just enough to feel your tight grip. It’s ecstasy, and it pulls a groan from him. “Greedy little slut. I’ve barely stuck my dick in you and you’re already trying _so hard_ to suck me in.”

His jaw clenches when your cunt flutters around the head of him in response to his words, and without so much as a warning, he sinks in deep with one hard thrust. He relishes in the cries that spill out into the room as he takes you hard and fast, your body pressed into the mattress beneath him. The hand that’d once pinned you down now slips around to grip your throat, squeezing until your vision begins to blacken.

A loud grunt is the last thing that you hear and the pulse of his cock as he fills you to the brim with his cum is the last thing that you feel as your consciousness slips away, your world blackening just before he leaves you a filthy, sticky mess on the bed.


	11. Startling Discovery (Murder!Kylo)

_A string of disappearances has one community on edge tonight as police have revealed they believe this to be the work of one depraved individual. More on that story and more coming up._

It’s a story that’s been running for weeks now. The news broadcasts have been airing it every hour on the hour; _a killer in our midst_ is what one had said, _why are so many women suddenly disappearing_ asked another.

The noise of the television fades into the background as you disappear into the closet to put away some of the clean clothes you’d just laundered. It’s in the midst of hanging up one of your shirts that you notice a stain on one of Kylo’s button-downs. Reaching for the sleeve, you pull it out further into the light to better inspect it.

It’s small, dark in color. You pick at it with your nail, testing to see if it’s something that will come off easily. It won’t, you find as you continue to scrape the spot. Whatever this is, is now embedded into the fabric of the shirt’s sleeve.

_Breaking news, we’ve just learned that one of the victims of the alleged killer has given a statement to the police who are now releasing a drawing of the suspect._

Your head pokes out of the closet, the stain on the shirt now forgotten momentarily as you focus on the television in the bedroom, watching and waiting for the sketch to be shown. An image flashes on screen, and for a fleeting moment, you nearly laugh at the absurdity. The long hair, broad shoulders, angular face. It’s a dead ringer for your husband, but certainly it can’t be.

Kylo wouldn’t hurt a fly.

You take a step closer to the television, arms crossing over your chest whilst you take a better look. There’s an unease that settles into the pit of your stomach when your eyes land on the portion of the drawing that depicts the man’s tie. It’s so oddly distinct, reminiscent of that expensive Stefano Ricci pleated silk tie you’d bought for Kylo as an anniversary present last year.

To your right a floorboard creaks, and when you turn your head, you’re met by the sight of your husband, his large frame taking up most of the doorway. There, knotted so perfectly around his neck, is that very tie.

_No._

_Surely it can’t be._

Kylo’s gaze flits to the television and then back to you, and you swear you see his eyes darken a fraction, just as he takes a step across the threshold to make his way to you.


	12. First Taste (Vampire!Kylo)

Needlepoint canines skitter across skin, preceding a tongue that laps at a pulse point, savoring the flavor that permeates the skin there. Your head lulls back to elongate your neck, inviting him in for taste.

A pained groan is emitted into the room, and Kylo grips you just a little tighter, hands drawing your body up from the bed closer to his own. He’s been longing for a taste of you, wanting this, _needing_ it for _so long_ , and now the moment finally presents itself. Should this be a dream, he hopes to never wake from it.

The puncturing of your skin is quick and less painful than you’d anticipated, but the surprise of it still elicits a gasp. Your hands grip his arms just a little tighter, anchoring yourself to him while he imbibes from the offering that you’ve given him so freely tonight.

He can’t even begin to describe just how delicious you are. The familiar copper tang is there at the forefront as it always is with anyone else, but the underlying sweetness the cuts through the sharp metallic flavor is simply _addictive_.

You can feel just what exactly this does to him the moment that his hips press down into yours; his cock straining insistently against the thick material of his sweats which now press against your clothed cunt. The sigh that you exhale is not from the sensation of his mouth on you, nor from the fangs that still sink in deep. No, it’s from the desire that now floods you too, as if his own thoughts have tethered themselves to yours; a temporary connection that forms whilst he drinks, flooding your mind with images of what he’d like to do to you.

“ _Please_ ,” you whisper out into the night air.

He knows what it is that you’re asking of him. How could he not when his mind is every bit as overwhelmed with images reciprocated on your behalf? He’ll give you what you ask for, but first, he just needs a _little more_ …


	13. Possession (Father!Kylo)

Whispers of fabric are barely audible above the sound of the growls that slip past your parted lips as you struggle against the restrains that bind your wrists to the headboard belonging to your bed, and a nervous sort of anticipation begins to fill Kylo as the reality of the situation truly sets in.

He’d been called here at your family’s behest after what’d been a suspected possession. Upon his arrival, Kylo had gone through the motions, said an extended prayer to ensure that this _was_ in fact a possession and not something that required treatment of a different kind.

But, oh, how you’d responded _wickedly_ to that prayer.

The facial expressions you’d bore were frightening, your face contorting into everything from subtle to outright _rage_ , and then came the flood of obscenities; the curses were not just aimed at Kylo, but at God as well, cursing the Holy Trinity and everything it stands for.

Oh, yes. There is no questioning what this is.

A low, rumbled growl emanates from deep within your chest while Kylo retrieves his cross and Saint Michael medallion. Your gaze flits to the items in his hand, and an uneasy breath is sucked into your body.

Kylo mutters a quick prayer of protection to himself, his eyes closing only briefly before his gaze returns to where you lie bound atop the bed.

“ **I’m centuries old** ,” you start, the words dripping from your mouth with such venom, with such baritone that anyone else would be startled. “ **You need to do more than that to get rid of me**.”

The corner of Kylo’s mouth turns upward only slightly to form the faintest smirk. This may be his first time dealing with an exorcism on his own, but he’s seen enough to know that he’s plenty capable.

“ _We’ll see_ ,” he responds confidently just before delving into the prayer to Saint Michael.


	14. Love Potion (Clyde Logan)

“I really don’t think y’should be messin’ about with that.”

If you were to rifle on through the nearest dictionary and stop on the word apprehensive, you’d find Clyde’s face as it stares at you now right there beside the word. Hesitant doesn’t even begin to cover how he’s feelin’.

He’d done what you’d asked of him, taken you to the new shop in town. He just hadn’t realized in was some witchcraft somethin’ or other, ‘n’ he ain’t one to mess with nothin’ like that. But _you_ …

Clyde’d nabbed himself a brazen one, he reckons. You’d damned near bought out everythin’ in that shop, ‘n’ now you’re standin’ before him with a small dark glass jar filled with some nondescript liquid.

“ **It’s a love potion** ,” you shrug, giving the little jar a shake as if to emphasize the nonchalant tone of your voice. “ **What could possibly go wrong**?”

“Ain’t we already in love?” Clyde’s gaze continually flickers back and forth between your face and the jar, his brows pinching together when you can’t help but smile in response.

“Are we,” you counter, a hint of mischief in your voice. “If I recall correctly, you’ve yet to ask me proper to be yours.”

Clyde swallows harshly, and he can’t tell if you’re bein’ serious or just pullin’ his leg. He _knows_ that _you_ know the two’a you are datin’. Have been for some time now. Hell, all’a Boone County knows it and have since the second he’d kissed you. But…

You _do_ still have a point.

It’s been unofficially official this entire time.

Again, his gaze flickers back and forth and back and forth, silently decidin’ whether or not he wants to go through with this. Finally, he concedes with a nod. “Well go on then.”

You pop the cork out of the glass container and waste no time in tipping half of the contents back into your mouth, your face screwing up in momentary disgust at the sickeningly sweet taste. Clyde reaches for the bottle when you hold it out to him, a silent invite for him to finish it off.

He does just that, emptying the remaining contents into his mouth, his expression mirroring yours when the flavor hits his tongue.

Now comes the waiting.

How long until it works…?


	15. Snowfall (Ghost!Flip)

_“Wake up.” The familiar baritone permeates the depths of your dreamless state, eliciting a grunt of protest as your eyes remain sealed shut, if only for the time being. Before long, the graze of a set of lips paired with the wiry hair of a goatee can be felt along your neck. “It’s snowing,” he says, the words muffled by his mouth on your skin._

_You stir, though your eyes continue to remain closed. “What time is it,” you mumble out into the quiet space._

_Beneath the duvet, a pair of large hands reaches for your hips, drawing your body closer to his whilst his lips move closer to your own, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Early.”_

_A smile begins to form, and you turn your head in time to capture Flip’s lips with your own. “It’s warm,” you protest weakly, “don’t make me get up yet.”_

_“Get up,” he says, “enjoy it while it still lasts.”_

_“I’d rather enjoy you,” you reply quickly, earning a chuckled huff that sends a warm puff of air across the side of your face._

_“I know.” The words are spoken softly, and, if you aren’t mistaken…there is a sadness there._

When your eyes finally _do_ open, you are greeted by an empty room. Only the lingering presence of Flip can be felt; his physical form banished once again until your eyes have slipped closed for yet another bout of sleep. Exhaling a displeased sigh, you push back the covers and slide out of bed.

Step by slow step, you shuffle your way towards the nearest window, lifting a hand to wipe away the last remnants of grogginess from your eyes. As promised, you discover that it _is_ snowing. The backyard is covered in a blanket of white, and large fluffy flakes continue to fall from the heavens. It’s a beautiful sight, one that you wish you could share with him.

Right on cue, as if he can read your very thoughts, the reflection of Flip’s face materializes in the window. You know, however, that if you were to turn around you would still be the only one in the room. But here, now, you _aren’t_ alone, and that makes you smile.

“It’s beautiful,” you says quietly.

The corners of Flip’s eyes crinkle with the smile that forms. “I knew it’d be worth getting you out of bed.”


	16. Succubus (Ronnie Peterson)

They say that the mind is a powerful thing, and it has been said that it _is_ possible to manifest anything you’d like in your life if only you think hard enough. Ronnie had never given much thought to manifestation; living life in the sleepy little town of Centerville, he’d never found much of a need for such a thing. He’s got everything he could ever want here, except for one thing…

The thought hits him late one Halloween night just as the clock strikes three. His hand has been pumping furiously at his cock for the better part of ten minutes now and still, he can’t seem to reach that much needed release that he so desperately chases. He whines out into the darkness of his room in desperation, hips bucking against his own touch and the head of his cock leaking profusely with precum that he smears with his thumb across the velvety skin.

It’s useless, pointless, he thinks to himself though his hand still continues its ministrations. If only he had someone here to help him. _That_ would do the trick. The movement of his hand stutters at the thought, envisioning the perfect version of the woman he’d love to have with him in this moment.

He envisions her—envisions _you_ —crawling to him on all fours, your tongue sweeping across your bottom lip as your eyes take in the sight of his thick, aching cock. Ronnie _swears_ he can feel the mattress dip when he imagines you climbing onto it beside him, but it isn’t until he feels you settling between his legs in order to deposit a few kitten licks to the base of him that his eyes fly open to reveal…to reveal…

“ _You_ ,” he breathes, the movement of his hand ceasing immediately.

When he moves to sit up, you shush him and rise up to press a hand to his chest, gently easing him back until he is once again lying flat on the bed. “I heard your pleas for a partner,” you reply, now moving to straddle him.

Ronnie’s cock throbs in automatic response when he feels the wetness of your cunt gliding along the length of him, and another dribble of cum trickles out from the head to collect on the skin of his abdomen. He watches in awe as your hands lift to fondle at your own breasts, fingers pinching and pulling at your pebbles nipples whilst you drag your clit back and forth against his cock.

His eyes roll at both the view and the sensation of you above him, and he swears he could cum just from the soft moan that slips past your parted lips. And to think he hasn’t even felt the welcoming warmth of your cunt yet. The thought nearly manages to pull a moan of his own straight from his chest.

“Tell me what you want, Ronnie.” Your voice is melodic; it’s pure music to his ears. He wants to hear for the rest of his days, though if he just gets to hear the sound tonight, he supposes he can live just as happily with that too.

“You,” he chokes out, eyes once again returning to the sight of you above him. He swallows thickly when he realizes that your movements have stopped…that you want _more_. “Want to bury my cock deep in that tight pussy, want to fill it full of my cum.”

The words shock even himself. Ronnie’s always prided himself in being a gentleman, but there’s something about you— _about this moment_ —that has him wanting to spew nothing but the filthiest words to you.

You hum in acknowledgement of his response, your fingers dropping away from your chest in favor of settling onto his own. “Go on then,” you urge with another roll of your hips. “Take what you want.”

There is no hesitation when he sits up with you still seated in his lap. His arm wraps around your middle, and with a quick, sudden movement, he turns so that you are beneath him now. Ronnie’s hands grasp your knees to push apart your legs, and even in the moonlight he can see how the insides of your thighs glisten with your arousal. His cock twitches in approval, and though he longs for nothing more than to bury himself in you, he can’t help but bend down to glide his tongue along the soft skin of your thigh to have a taste.

You are everything he knew you would be and more; the sweet musk on his tongue is addictive, and it isn’t long until his mouth has migrated to your folds, kissing, licking, and sucking every bit of your arousal until your are covered in his saliva. His lips and chin shine when he pulls away, and you reach for him then to pull him down to you, imbibing the taste of yourself on him when his lips clash with your own.

The head of his cock brushes along your slick cunt until, finally, it catches at your entrance. There is no gentleness tonight, no slow movements or tenderness. You have offered to let him take, and so take he shall.

With one quick snap of his hips, he sheaths himself inside you, buried to the hilt as you gasp beneath him. Ronnie’s fingers curl into the sheets on either side of your body, holding onto them just as tightly as your own hands grasp onto his arms for support. It is a rough, punishing pace that he sets; his eyes roam the landscape of your body as it bounces against the mattress beneath him, your breasts jostling with each hard thrust of his body against your own.

“ _Yes, yes, yes! Oh, Ronnie,_ ” you cry out, toes curling and back arching as he takes and takes and takes.

“That’s it,” he says through gritted teeth. “ _Fuck_ , you feel so good, take me so well.” He grunts from the exertion, the sound mingling with the squeaks of the springs tucked away in the mattress.

“Give it to me,” you reply, fingers furling until Ronnie feels the delicious sting of your nails biting into his flesh. “ _Please_ , _Ronnie!_ _Oh, God!_ ”

The movement of Ronnie’s hips stutter, his thrusts becoming shallow whilst he releases a string of expletives among a chorus of grunts and groans. His head tips forward and his hair falls in front of his face like a curtain, walling off his expression as his cock throbs within the confines of your cunt.

Even after the haze of his orgasm fades, his hips continue to move, slowly working his cock in and out and in and out, dragging the veiny ridges of himself along the tight, wet walls of your cum soaked cunt. He seats himself inside you fully, his movements finally ceasing just as he brings a hand down between the two of you to rub the pad of his thumb against your clit.

It isn’t long until he brings you to your own release, and he relishes in the way you wail and twist beneath him, rewarding him with a tight clench around his still hard cock.

Ronnie doesn’t fancy himself a man with many regrets, but if there is one he does have, it’s that he hasn’t manifested you sooner. But he knows, following tonight, this will not be the last the two of you see of one another.


End file.
